


Knocking on Heaven's Door

by Mirach



Series: My Good Omens stories [11]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bittersweet Ending, Burns, Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Gen, Hellfire, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I want Raphael as a PhD advisor, Inspired by Art, M/M, Metaphysical therapy, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, Not all of Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Scientist Raphael, Second Execution Attempt, Serious Injuries, Time Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25577068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirach/pseuds/Mirach
Summary: Raphael has spent the last 6000 years over his research, believing that Heaven is in good hands and he doesn't need to concern himself with politics. He's in for a surprise after he finds out that his knowledge was used in a attempt to execute an angel immune to hellfire... Meanwhile Hell doesn't want to embarass itself anymore in case a second execution doesn't work. They have other ideas about how to punish their traitor.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Raphael (Good Omens), Raphael & Death (Good Omens)
Series: My Good Omens stories [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517162
Comments: 128
Kudos: 209
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale, My faves - Good Omens Whump





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts), [Bookwormgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwormgal/gifts).



> Inspired by [this picture](https://whiteleyfoster.tumblr.com/post/621169148114911232/nobody-hurts-aziraphale-if-crowley-has-anything-to) by Whiteley Foster, I dedicate this story to her and to Bookwormgal and all the lovely encouraging people in the Ace Omens Discord's corner :)  
> Thanks for betaing to [LTRisBACK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LTRisBACK/pseuds/LTRisBACK)!

Aziraphale fell.

He didn't remember falling.

He was standing in one moment. He remembered Gabriel's disinterested eyes. He remembered Sandalphon's smirk just before his fist charged with holy fire connected with Aziraphale's sternum. The pain that erupted in his chest like a supernova. 

And then he was lying on the ground. There was the taste of copper and bile and ash at the back of his throat. The cobblestones under his cheek were hard and strangely warm from the released celestial energy.

He had to get back up, had to keep fighting.

He couldn't. 

He couldn't force his body to move, like someone watching a horror movie screaming at the character to turn around, but knowing that the idiot is going to get himself killed anyway.

His field of vision was narrowed, as though he was looking out of a deep well, and all he saw there were bright spots dancing on the background of blurry shapes.

But the ringing in his ears subsided just in time to hear Gabriel’s disinterested query.

"Will the hellfire work now?"

"Very probably. Let's try."

* * *

2 days ago

"Hello there, buddy. Long time no see."

Raphael turned to the sound of a familiar voice. “Gabriel! Has the fighting started yet? It’s been so quiet, I don’t know when to expect the…”

“Uh, nobody told you? Sorry about that. What an oversight, really.”

“What has nobody told me?”

“That the fighting has been cancelled for now.”

“Oh! It has... “ Raphael stared at Gabriel for a moment, as if hesitant to believe the unexpected good news. “Really? That’s great! I’ll tell my healers right away, we’ve all been so tense waiting for the first wave of the injured. Is that your doing, Gabriel? I knew I could trust you with the leadership...”

"Err… yes, sure. It wasn't exactly my doing, but for now the War is delayed."

"As modest as ever," Raphael smiled. "Thank you for coming personally to tell me."

"Yes, yes. Listen, Raphael, I've got a question for you."

"Of course."

"So, hypothetically, imagine you have an angel immune to Hellfire. How would you surpass such immunity?"

"But why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why would you want to surpass it? Hellfire burns are the only thing I can't heal. I've been working for such a long time to figure out how to grant at least a partial immunity, without success. Is there really such an angel? How did they achieve it? Can you send them to me?"

Gabriel cringed. "Let's not get overexcited here, all right, buddy? It's just a hypothetical question. Let's assume the angel is a traitor and should be punished, he certainly wouldn't cooperate with you. So could you try answering, please?"

"But why?"

Gabriel pressed his lips into a narrow line with the look of someone who's asking God for patience while dealing with idiots. "What do you mean, why? I already told you why!"

"No, I mean, why would you need to surpass a Hellfire immunity to punish an angel. We don't use Hellfire. And if he's still an angel and you would let Hell punish him… that would be awful."

"Ugh, you know what, Raphael? Forget I asked. Just forget it."

"If he's not Fallen, then the immunity can't reach into his essence," Raphael continued, ignoring Gabriel's annoyed expression. "It would have to be just a surface protection. If you break it, then he would be in danger of complete annihilation if you send him to Hell. Unthinkable."

Gabriel nodded and his lips turned into a little smile now. "Of course, Raphael. I don't know what I was thinking, imagining scenarios like that. Thank you for your time."

"Oh, my pleasure. I'm just so glad you managed to avert the War. But if you ever encounter Hellfire immunity in an angel, please send them to me."

"Will do," Gabriel smiled. "I've got to go now, busy with all the organizing, you know how it is. See you later!"

Gabriel left the healing wards and hurried to the open-space management offices. 

Sandalphon was standing by the window, tapping his foot impatiently. "So what did he say?" he asked as soon as Gabriel appeared.

"The immunity is just a surface layer. If you bash it enough, it should crack."

Sandalphon's smile spread across his face like a glint of golden light on the top of an iceberg in the path of a crowded ship.

* * *

3 days ago

"Pipes leaking again," Hastur muttered instead of an apology for his late arrival and took a seat at the Infernal Council meeting. 

"We are almozzt done," Beelzebub informed him in a rather bored voice. "Unless you have some other point of agenda."

"I do, actually."

Dagon lowered a dripping pen to the paper. "The point being…?"

"Crowley."

"Point dissmizzzed. We are done discuzzing the traitor. I don't want to hear a word about him ever again."

"But what if I know a fitting punishment for him that's worse than destruction?"

"I'm lizzzzztening."

* * *

10 minutes ago

They allowed themselves to relax after the failed trials, believing they are free to drop their pretences… believing they are safe, at least for a while.

They decided they deserved a little holiday. A chance to get away from everything that reminded them of Heaven and Hell, and just be themselves, together. 

Aziraphale being himself meant that when they came across an antiquarian bookshop in the little coastal town, Crowley knew the angel was not going to move anytime soon. Humming to himself, Crowley left him there and went to hunt for some delicacies. 

He realized how wrong they had been when he felt an iron grip on his wrist and the customer browsing pastries right next to him transformed into Hastur. 

"Hello Crowley," the demon grinned, the toad on his head mirroring the action.

"Hi and bye," Crowley said and _didn't_ transform into a snake as he planned. He looked at his wrist where a metal shackle glowed with white sigils, unpleasantly similar to a summoning circle.

Hastur's grin widened. "Wanting to leave so soon? That's terribly rude, Crowley."

He made one more attempt at twisting his hand out of Hastur's grasp, but the shackle glowed again and continuing to struggle felt like a toddler fighting against a grown man. 

Acutely aware of his powerlessness, he smiled stiffly. "So it's a social visit, is it? How's everybody doing? Still afraid of me, I take it? You know, I'd let me go, in your place, and I'll never mention it again. You _really_ don't seem to know what I can do, and the others won't like facing the consequences that would be your fault." _In particular, Aziraphale is going to get angry_ , he added to himself.

"Crowley, Crowley… always so paranoid. I'm not going to do anything to you. I just want to show you something," Hastur sneered and forced Crowley to walk with him out of the shop.

There, on the little town square, was Aziraphale. 

And Gabriel.

And Sandalphon. 

Crowley struggled against Hastur's unyielding grip again, but the sigils were robbing him of strength.

Aziraphale didn't notice him. He was too busy avoiding Sandalphon's attacks and miracling the spectators to safety. He was limping and his coat was singed on several places.

"You might be immune to pain or holy water," Hastur whispered into Crowley's ear, "but you aren't immune to this, am I right?"

No, he definitely wasn't, Crowley thought, struggling furiously to no avail. _Wait, pain?_ He made a mental note to ask Aziraphale what exactly happened between his abduction and the trial. When they get out of this. 

"You obliterated my lurking partner, Crowley…" Hastur's breath felt like the air escaping from a bloated garbage bag on a hot day, and it was too close to Crowley's face to his liking. "Now watch as the same happens to yours."

* * *

1 day ago

The conference room at the ground floor of a certain office building in London was rather small. Clearly it wasn't meant for large groups but rather for a more private type of meeting. 

One such meeting was just taking place, and it seemed like a recent routine. Both sides were clearly uncomfortable with the other's presence, but had developed a set outline already. 

"Armageddon readiness at 43%," Gabriel said with a complacent smile, since he managed to lower it by 11% since the last meeting.

"51," Beelzebub snarled. In Hell, it was more of a question of being ready to tear something apart than having military equipment returned to the storage.

"Still progress," Gabriel smiled again, his fake sympathy obvious.

Beelzebub moved on quickly to get rid of the smile. "Anything elzzze to discuzz?" 

"Ah, yes, actually. We would like to have another go on executing the traitor. Would you mind supplying the hellfire?"

"Oh? You think you can make it work thizzz time?"

"98% sure."

"Well… that suits uzzz. It works well with Hastur's idea of punishing Crowley."

"Do you want holy water for that?"

"No. Juzzzt a good viewpoint."

* * *

Now

"Will the hellfire work now?"

"Very probably. Let's try."

Crowley ceased his struggling for a second, frozen in terror.

Only now did he notice Beelzebub standing a little to the side, holding a metal jar. 

Something gripped his heart. It was cold and heavy. Heavy like loss and loneliness. The weight of eternity faced alone. The cold of all movement stopping, of everything losing its meaning. The heat death of his soul. 

_No no no no no!_

He started to struggle again - everything in him screamed, every fibre of his being fought to prevent the unspeakable. The Serpent, trapped by the sigils, reared its head. 

He could not turn into a snake. He _was_ a snake, somewhere under the human shape. He believed it, he imagined it. 

He twisted and writhed, and suddenly he was free from Hastur's grasp.

The roaring tongue of hellfire just left its jar, ready to strike like a viper snapping at its prey.

Time blurred.

Serpent met serpent.

Sparks flew out like predatory fireflies. 

Then Crowley was on the ground, crouched over Aziraphale protectively. As he looked up, his eyes contained the bottomless fury of a creature threatened by destruction of everything it held dear; the avenging anger that announced clearly that hurting one it cared about had dire consequences.

"You. Won't. Touch him," he snarled.

Facing him were two Archangels, a Duke and a Prince of Hell. He didn't care. He was protecting Aziraphale. 

"Sandalphon, get rid of the nuisance," Gabriel said, annoyed. 

Sandalphon grinned. His fist crackled with gathering energy. 

A thought in Crowley's mind waved its hands, trying to get his attention through the red fog of " _they hurt Aziraphale_ ". Ah, yes. The sigils. On his wrist. 

He acknowledged the thought like something that might need a slight adjustment in his tactics, but never undermined his determination. He wasn't much of a fighter. But this was no fight or flight situation. It was kill or die, and dying meant that Aziraphale would die as well. Not an option. So, kill. 

With that crystal clear intent, he stood up, carefully remaining between Sandalphon and Aziraphale.

Sandalphon was a fighter. His moves were precise and calculated, meant to deal maximum pain with minimum effort.

Crowley didn't know what he was doing. He had a firm intention but the way to achieve it seemed rather blurry. 

He risked a quick glance back and saw Aziraphale opening his eyes, eyebrows furrowed with pain. 

Then he turned and saw Sandalphon's fist getting bigger and bigger as it aimed for his face. 

He let the snake in him act. 

Dodge and strike, lightning fast. 

A blast of holy flame blistering his cheek and scorching his hair.

His teeth in Sandalphon's neck. 

A pulse against his lips. 

His mouth filling with coppery, warm wetness. 

The sticky trickle down his chin. 

A spray of red in his nose and eyes.

It was choking him, but he did not let go. 

Something with the hardness of rock hitting his ribs, his temples, again and again.

Something cracking in his temple.

Sharp pain flooding his senses, his vision darkening.

The spray of blood splashing him and then abating. Again. Again. Again… again…… again………..

The blows stopped. 

He did not let go. 

There was stillness under his grasp. 

The stillness of gathering power. 

The quiescence of a volcano before eruption. 

He did not let go. He couldn't. Not before the stillness turns to stiffness, not before the blood stops flowing. Not before the enemy is dead. 

Somewhere from a back seat, Crowley watched the snake taking them for a ride wilder than any 90mph jaunt in central London, and much more dangerous. 

He could think about what was going on - in a strange, detached way, cold and calculating. 

Sandalphon's corporation was dying. 

At the same time, the Archangel was gathering the power to smite him.

If Crowley lets go, Sandalphon would heal himself and stop dying. Not good. He didn't think he would be able to get another chance like this.

If Crowley doesn't let go, Sandalphon would discorporate but smite him instead of a goodbye. Not good. That would leave Aziraphale alone with Gabriel and… ah, Beelzebub and Hastur were nowhere around. They disappeared with the first sign of trouble. How typical. But Aziraphale was helpless against…

Oh. 

The part of him that wasn't a snarling bundle of animal instincts caught a movement with the corner of his eye. 

Aziraphale was staggering to his feet. He seemed dazed, but at least he was able to move. 

That had to be enough. Crowley had faith in the angel. He knew that Aziraphale was a warrior, that he was so much better than he believed about himself. He just needed a strong motivation. Like revenge. 

He turned his pupils back towards the weakening red trickle. 

The air crackled with energy.

He did not let go.

Sandalphon's fist connected with his chest. 

His senses exploded like a dying star.

Hot. Bright. Pain.

Impact.

It did not hurt long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains lovely art from [aeyria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeyria). The second picture is drawn by me for the Good Omens angst bingo.

1 hour ago 

"Azrael! I'm glad you came."

NOT MANY WOULD SAY THAT, the Angel of Death said with an unreadable expression, which also happened to be his default expression.

Raphael was already turned to his worktable, boiling a clear liquid in a vessel of strange shape. "I hope I can get the tea right this time... You still like black tea, I hope?"

YES.

"Good. I managed to sneak some into the last gross matter shipment for testing of healing properties. It's Darjeeling, I think."

GOOD.

"So how are you doing? Gabriel only told me about the cancelling of the Apocalypse a little while ago, but I thought of you right away. You were supposed to play a big part in it, aren't you disappointed?"

NO.

"I'm glad to hear that. You will get to play your part eventually, right? Creation's shadow and all that… It's just a bit of a delay. But I must say I'm glad for it. I appreciate the extra time to research and prepare before they start butchering each other down there…" Raphael shuddered, as if reminded of some nasty memory. "I hope you don't mind that I'm glad about it?"

NO.

Raphael waited. He could recognize a finished thought from a pause in speech. And indeed, Azrael continued after a while.

I JUST HOPED I'D GET TO RIDE THE MOTORBIKE MORE. 

"Oh. I see."

I TOLD THEM IT'S THE DESTINATION THAT MATTERS.

"Of course you did. And you were right, too. But the ride is thrilling, isn't it?" asked Raphael, who never rode anywhere. "Oh, and the tea is ready. I think. It's supposed to steep for five minutes, right? Not five hours. That's what I got wrong last time, I think."

TIME IS MEANINGLESS.

"Sure, but in these circumstances I would dare to disagree… and here it is. Let me know if something's wrong."

Death took a sip. IT'S GOOD. THANK YOU.

"Good, good. I should try it sometime, too. But not now, I'm afraid."

WHY NOT?

"I don't want it to interfere with the healing substance I'm currently testing on myself."

Azrael nodded and sipped his tea in silence.

Raphael leant at his table, occupying himself in equal measure with watching some experiment that was running there and with watching Death drink his tea.

Azrael was in no hurry, so it took a while. But time is meaningless. 

"When was the last time you had your wings preened?" Raphael asked nonchalantly when the empty cup was put aside. 

MY WINGS ARE SHAPES CUT THROUGH THE MATTER OF CREATION. THEY DON'T NEED PREENING.

"Nonsense," Raphael shook his head. "You may be a personification of power beyond comprehension, but you are still an angel. And it's healthy for angel wings to be preened at least once in an Earthly decade."

BUT-

"What, do you think that having negative wings is a problem when it comes to preening them?"

WELL… YES.

"Not at all. Would you let me? After all the stress of bringing the end of the world and then getting turned away, you deserve it."

There was no expression in Death's face, of course. But the deep, otherworldly spark of light in his eyes got a little shy. 

I GUESS… I COULD LET YOU TRY. RIGHT?

"Of course," Raphael smiled. "Just make yourself comfortable."

Death didn't move, but something in him seemed to actually get more comfortable and relaxed as his wings fanned out of his back, negative shapes in the fabric of reality. 

Raphael admired them for a moment before he shifted a chair so that he could reach them more easily. He did not touch the feathers that actually weren't there. He touched and manipulated the edges of reality around them, smoothing and brushing them gently.

Death made no sound, but Raphael could feel the lessening tension between the atoms dancing on the edges of the negative wings. "So what actually happened that stopped the Armageddon?" he asked while working on the coverts. "Gabriel told me about it, but didn’t want to take the full credit. Was he just being modest?”

A sound like shifting of gravestones sounded from the depths of Death’s skull. A laugh. 

YOU HAVEN'T BEEN AROUND GABRIEL MUCH, HAVE YOU?

"No, indeed not. I'm rather thankful that he and the others took the leadership and let me do my research in peace. I really don't envy them, it's tedious work."

MAYBE YOU SHOULD ASK WHAT THEY ARE DOING WITH IT THEN.

"With the leadership, you mean? What could they do with it that I wouldn't?"

OH RAPHAEL…

And Death told him what really happened on that airfield. He told him what he saw in the park the next day. 

Raphael was quiet, methodically working on the wings of night. But his teeth were clenched and his fingers moved automatically.

"Gabriel asked me how to surpass hellfire immunity in an angel," he finally said, his voice full of worry.

In that moment Death suddenly hid his wings.

I MUST GO.

"Oh. I hope it's not…"

IT IS.

"I'm coming with you."

* * *

Now 

Aziraphale was pain. 

Not simply hurting. Not _in_ pain. He was the pain. There was no room for anything else in his being. 

He was on the ground, but he didn't remember falling. 

His eyes were open, but the pictures projected on his retinas were just a meaningless jumble of shapes and colours. 

There was red and orange. Then there was a dark shape covering his field of vision. And then more red.

Then he recognized the dark shape, and suddenly there was room for so much more than pain. Worry. Determination. Love. 

He struggled to his feet, the other feelings overcoming the pain. 

Not fast enough.

There was a blast. The smell of holiness. A body flying through the air and then falling limply. 

His world shattering.

He was grief. 

He was a wordless scream of crushing loneliness.

He looked around and saw every detail as a white-hot brand burnt into his mind.

Crowley.

The fires reflecting in the dark cobblestones. The first stars peeking out through gaps in the low clouds.

Crowley… He…

Sandalphon's body in a pool of his own blood.

Crowley. Lying there. He...

No. No. No. No.

Gabriel making a step forward, power sparking around his fingers.

Towards Crowley. 

And Crowley… He...

"Do you think he's dead?" Gabriel asked conversationally. "It's better to make sure, I guess."

Aziraphale was rage.

He was a flame, as hot as the broken heart of a supernova. 

He was a sword with a deadly glint on the edge of a blade, as sharp as loss.

He looked at Gabriel.

The Archangel took a step back. "Woah, Aziraphale…"

Aziraphale wasn’t listening to him. His steps were the inevitable progress of a glacier crushing and molding the land under its weight. His footprints were painted in blood and soot, but the pain didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Gabriel took another step back. And then one more. But there he stopped, remembering who he is and who Aziraphale is. 

The Archangel spread his wings in a demonstration of power. There were six of them, spanning over vast distance that didn't really correspond with their physical dimensions. Looking at him was like watching the reflections of light in a droplet of dew that condensed on an atomic bomb just being dropped from a plane. 

Aziraphale never stopped. He did not consciously reveal his true form, but it started peeking through. He was a middle-aged bookseller with a fell light in his eyes and he was a being of wheels and wings and eyes. Both blurred together though, not in shape but in essence - the idea that is beneath a form. And his essence was a sword. A flaming sword, meant to guard and protect. 

The sword clashed against an adamantine wing. A bolt of lightning hit the flames. The power of the Archangel was immense, but the sword never made a step back. It attacked again and again, paying no attention to the hits it was receiving, to the blood running down its blade.

They fought in all dimensions. A plump bookseller against an athletic businessman. Wings and wheels clashing against each other. A flaming sword hitting a mighty column of lightning.

They fought and they bled, a clashing of powers beyond human comprehension. One was rage. The other one started as self-righteousness, but was now turning into fear.

The businessman on the ground, blood streaming from his broken nose. Six disheveled wings, feathers floating to the ground. Lightning cut by the sharpness of the blade.

That's what Raphael saw when he and Death arrived on the scene.

He took it all in quickly and snapped his fingers.

Time stopped.

YOU KNOW THAT TRICK DOESN'T WORK ON ME, DON'T YOU?

"I know."

I AM DEATH. I COME WHEN I COME.

"I know. A favour?"

I SHOULDN'T. 

"I know."

Death sighed.

"Thank you," Raphael smiled at him and walked around in the stopped time to assess the situation. 

First he approached the demon lying on the ground. His face and hands were blackened and burnt, the smoke rising from his clothes frozen in the air.

"Hm."

HE'S GOT 1.13 SECONDS BEFORE I NEED TO TAKE HIM.

Raphael looked up and smiled faintly. "Time is meaningless."

Then he walked over to the two fighting angels. He circled them, observing their fight from every angle. "Oh no."

YES.

Raphael wiped his face with his hand, suddenly looking tired. "How didn't he notice that?"

Azrael had no reply. 

"I'm going to heal the demon first."

Azrael still didn't say anything.

"He helped to stop the war. He actually saved angelic lives by doing that."

Azrael remained silent. 

"If I heal him, you're not going to take him."

CORRECT.

"Really? All right then." 

Raphael walked over to Crowley. He didn’t touch the demon yet, just observed. Stopping time wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t actually stopped, just slowed down infinitesimally. Or rather, he was accelerated so much that everything else seemed frozen. It was all relative anyway, the effect was the same. The point was, it was very hard to do another miracle that required full focus in such a state. He considered the necessary extent of healing to stop the demon from dying very carefully. That was a priority while the time was stopped. Step two would be getting Aziraphale into his healing ward right after the time restarts. Step three - finish healing the demon. Step four - have a word with Gabriel. Healing him is only optional. 

He nodded to himself and leaned over the demon when he registered a movement in the corner of his eye. 

It felt like someone trying with all their strength to break through a locked door and stumbling inside when the hinges finally snap. 

Aziraphale stumbled into time, off-balance and disoriented, but with a clear, sharp intent. 

Crowley was dying. Someone was between him and Crowley. 

He was a flaming sword.

“No, wait!” Raphael quickly stepped away from the demon and opened his hands in a placating movement. “I’m trying to help…”

Aziraphale didn’t listen to him. 

Death made a move as if to intercept the furious angel, but Raphael shook his head and slowly crouched down to make himself look as non-threatening as possible. “Hello, Aziraphale,” he said soothingly. “I am Raphael. I’m a healer. Your friend is hurt. Let me help, please?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Aziraphale’s face. His eyes still shone with a dangerous light, though. The rage formed itself into words. “If that’s true… where have you been?”

Raphael winced. “Good question,” he said slowly. “I’ve been… ignorant. Too focused on my own research to notice what was going on around me. I’m sorry. I want to help now.”

Aziraphale still didn’t stop, trying to reach Crowley now that he didn’t perceive Raphael as an immediate threat. There was Death. He had to reach Crowley, had to keep Death away from him. But his strength was failing him now. He stumbled.

“Please, Aziraphale. It’s all right. Time doesn’t flow for him. I can save him before it starts flowing again. But you… please, let me help. You are hurting yourself.”

Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge Raphael’s words, but he had to register them at least subconsciously. Crowley could be saved. He wanted to believe it so much it hurt. It hurt… The pain caught up with him so suddenly it stole all his thoughts for a moment. He hit the cobblestones, writhing in agony. 

Raphael stepped towards him, but Aziraphale pushed the pain down with all of his will. “Help him,” he said through gritted teeth. “You said you’ll help him. So help him.” 

Raphael bit his lip. “I will. But you… Aziraphale, you’re burning. You’ve been hit by a spark of hellfire. It’s spreading, see?”

Aziraphale looked at himself in surprise. He remembered fire. But Crowley stopped it. He jumped in front of Aziraphale and stopped it. Sparks flew from where the fire hit the demon. Sparks of hellfire. An angry burn was spreading on his side, smoldering under his ruined clothes. 

Now that he knew, he couldn’t block out the pain. He trembled in it, swallowing screams. Blood was pooling under him where he lay, flowing from his other wounds. 

Raphael came closer. “Easy… easy… we need to get you to my healing ward. There’s a room where time is stopped permanently. Just until I find a cure. I’m working on it…”

“Don’t touch me!” Aziraphale snapped and an echo of the fury he faced Gabriel with still sounded from his voice. “Heal him first! You promised…” 

“Aziraphale! You’re losing time…”

“Then heal him!” 

Raphael stopped. He reassessed the situation. "All right.”

Not losing any more time (or whatever they were losing right now), the Archangel healer turned his back to Aziraphale and knelt by the dying demon. 

Aziraphale tried to get up and failed. He was burning. His corporation, his essence - everything burnt. It was a relief. The pain was so much more bearable than losing Crowley.

He crawled, leaving a trace of blood and soot behind. Then he couldn't crawl anymore. He raised his head and watched, unable to suppress the moans escaping from his lips.

Crowley didn't look much better than before, at least on the outside. Raphael wasn't healing his corporation. He reached directly for the vital parts of the demon's damaged essence. He mended them with efficiency and precision, just enough for the essence to be able to sustain itself.

Finally he stood up, looking rather drained. "I can't do more now," he said, turning to Aziraphale. "I need to restart time. As soon as I do, I'll send both of you to my healing ward. Don't worry. I'll heal him fully and I'll have a cure for you in almost no time... from your perspective."

"And from his?" Aziraphale asked hoarsely, not taking his eyes off Crowley’s still form.

"It might take a while but it'll be better than losing you."

Aziraphale could not argue with that. The pain of losing Crowley was still fresh in his mind, overshadowing the burn of hellfire devouring his essence.

"You'll... take care of him?" he asked urgently, painfully aware that he didn't know Raphael well enough, but had no other choice than trust him.

"I promise," the healer said gently.

Aziraphale nodded, tears running down his soot-stained cheeks.

Raphael snapped his fingers. 

Time restarted. 

He snapped his fingers again and Aziraphale found himself in a white room. Faintly, he perceived other hurt angels in there, but the slowed time was pulling him under its surface and this time, he didn't resist it.

At the same time, on Earth, Gabriel raised his hand as if to protect himself from a blow. "Please…" he rasped through the blood in his mouth, "let's be reasonable!"

Raphael approached him with a frown. 

"Mercy, Azi… Raphael? What the…? He…he attacked me!" 

The healer's expression was so cold it could have been chiseled from ice, without a hint of compassion.

"You used my knowledge to hurt someone."

"W-What?" Gabriel stammered, trying to shift away. "But he hurt _me_! See? I'm hurt! He's crazy! He attacked me! I had to defend myself!"

"You used hellfire on an angel."

"I had to! I had no other option!

Raphael nodded. "Me neither," he said and summoned his staff. 

Gabriel's eyes widened with fear, "You can't…"

"Can't heal you corporation. I'm too drained. Easier to get a new one."

"What? No! No no no…"

"We will talk later," Raphael said with just a little hint of grim satisfaction as his staff hit Gabriel in the temple.

The precision of the blow was clearly derived from a long study of essences, physical bodies and their connection. 


	3. Chapter 3

5 days later

Crowley awoke in a dimly lit room. The brick walls were covered in dirt and badly designed posters. 

He bolted upright.

He wasn’t bound? Surprising, but he didn't pause to think about it. He had to get away. He had to find Aziraphale. They were going to kill Aziraphale!

He ran to the door. It wasn't locked. He opened it and… 

Heaven?

Confused, he looked out at the white, sterile hallway. Then he looked back at the dark room. Some things were off now that he started to think about the situation. There was a bed in the room, a big, soft and clean bed. Someone had tried to reproduce the smell of Hell but didn't get it quite right. It was mixed with the fresh ozone smell of Heaven and something else that he couldn't quite place - maybe some herbs or spices.

Waking in Hell was bad news. Waking in Heaven was even worse. But Heaven trying to mask as Hell? He retreated back into the room, desperate to find Aziraphale, confused as hell… or heaven. Whatever. 

He noticed then - the shackle was gone. He snapped his fingers and sharp pain shot through him before any miracle could happen. Bad idea.

He was just looking for some kind of makeshift weapon when the door opened. 

He stared at an angel with bronze skin and white hair who walked in as casually as if he was on a stroll in a park, then looked at Crowley with surprise. "Oh, you're already awake?" he asked.

Crowley jumped behind the bed to put a physical object between himself and a possible smiting. Not that a bed would help. He could feel the power of the angel. A seraph, at least. 

"Where's Aziraphale?" he demanded, a clear threat in his voice despite his crouching position. 

The angel made a slow step back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Raphael. You are safe here. So is Aziraphale."

As if Crowley would believe that. His last memory were angels trying to kill them both. Well, actually just Aziraphale, but in practice it meant the same. "Where is he?" he demanded again.

"Please, calm down. You're not well yourself, your essence is still healing. Such strong emotions are not doing you any good."

Crowley stood up and faced the angel fully, the expression in his face desperate. "As if I'd care!" He jumped over the bed and stopped just a step away from Raphael. "Where is he?"

Raphael closed his eyes tiredly for a moment. "I’ll show you," he turned to lead the way.

Crowley narrowed his eyes, wondering what kind of trap he’s going to be walking into. Still, he needed to find Aziraphale. He nodded and followed the angel out of the room, alert and wary. 

Raphael led him through the white halls. Occasionally they met another angel but all of them just stepped around them respectfully, not startled by a demon's presence in Heaven. Crowley still kept close to the walls, limiting the possible directions an attack could come from. 

They arrived in a big room. It was rather cluttered, contrasting with the minimalistic design that was typical for Heaven. There were strange devices and instruments along the walls, wires, screen and vials with various substances. In the middle of the room was a white table, just the right size to accommodate a body.

Crowley's hands trembled. His heart was climbing up into his throat. A torture chamber.

But Aziraphale wasn't on the table. Where was he? Had he already been tortured? Was it now Crowley's turn? 

Raphael walked towards the far side of the room, his back turned to Crowley. 

Crowley took his chance and grabbed a tool from a nearby table. It looked like a rather convoluted scalpel, one meant to cut in several dimensions at once. Perfect.

Raphael sighed heavily. "I will show you, but only because you insist so. I don't really know how to prepare you for this." He miracled a chair. "At least sit down, I'll explain everything and then you can see him."

Crowley approached with his hands clasped behind his back. "I'll stand," he said defiantly, "and I want to see him  _ now _ ."

Rapheal looked unhappy about that. "No, no. This is not wise."

Crowley took the angel by surprise. Like in a James Bond movie, one moment he was standing next to the enemy, distracting him with talk…and the next he was holding him from behind, restraining his movement, with a sharp blade pressed against the enemy's throat.

"I want to see Aziraphale," he snarled. "I want you to release him. Or else…"

"I can't do that."

Crowley pressed on the blade. 

"You don't understand," Raphael said calmly as a trickle of blood ran down his throat. "I can't. It would kill him."

The blade shook, drawing more blood.

Raphael sighed. "Please, you really shouldn't strain yourself so. I want to help, if you'd just let me…"

Crowley could feel that the angel was not lying about this at least. He could feel his grip weakening. There was a dull but persistent ache somewhere deep in his essence, growing sharper moment by moment. He swayed on his feet and hoped that the angel didn’t notice when for a moment Crowley used him to steady himself instead of restraining him. His vision swam. He didn’t have much time, it seemed.

He pressed on the blade, let it sink deeper under the skin and nick a vein. “Release Aziraphale. Alive,” he said in his most fearsome voice. Then his legs decided to give up. 

Raphael turned immediately, as if the blade on his neck was no issue to him. Crowley watched in fascination as it cut through vein and muscle with the angel’s movement - he dropped it, but it was too late. Only…the wound healed immediately. The angel caught him just before he hit the ground and sat him down on the chair like a child. 

“Now you’ve torn it again,” Raphael said with a tone that was both admonishing and concerned. 

“Wut?” Crowley blinked. He  _ could _ feel something wrong with him. 

“The stitches in your essence,” Raphael sighed. “You tried to do a miracle, didn’t you? Just let me…” he said and when Crowley didn’t protest, he  _ reached inside him _ . He did something there. There was a little sharp sting, but then it felt much better. “There,” Raphael straightened. 

“Where’s Aziraphale?” The question didn’t sound like a threat anymore. It was more of a plea, tired and defeated. 

Raphael sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. There really is no good way to say it. Let’s put it this way - there’s good news and bad news, and I’m going to tell you the good news first so that you can remember it when hearing the bad.”

Crowley’s heart was beating wildly in anticipation of the news, ready to shatter with just one word.  _ Don’t say it _ , pleaded his eyes as he watched the angelic healer.

“The good news is, he’s not dead. Or dying. He’s not in pain, either. And I believe that he will be all right.”

“But?” Crowley breathed out. 

“He’s been hit by hellfire.”

“No!” Crowley jumped out of the chair. “Where is he? I have to see him!”

“Right there,” Raphael pointed at the white wall next to them. “With all the other angels that were injured with it who I got to before it was too late. You need to know something before you see it. Time is slowed in that room. It flows so slowly that they seem frozen in it. They have almost no time to suffer until I find a cure. I’m working on it and I  _ will _ find it. But it’s not a pretty sight. I… do avoid it, if I can. And your essence is still tender. I would not advise it.”

“I want to see him.”

Raphael sighed again. “As you wish,” he murmured and the wall faded into transparency. 

There was a room with several beds, all filled with angels. Some had only a small burn, barely noticeable. Others were charred more deeply, one almost beyond recognition. All of their faces wore an expression of pure agony, but they seemed frozen in it, unable to move or scream. Raphael was right - it was unsettling. 

Crowley’s eyes found Aziraphale. There was his angel. There were no traces of the fight, no blood or wounds visible on his body. Raphael must have healed those. What there was was a nasty hellfire burn covering his whole side. Yet Aziraphale’s expression was almost peaceful compared to the other angels. 

Crowley choked on tears. 

The wall grew opaque again, hiding the suffering of the angels frozen in time. 

"Let me help you back to your room," Raphael suggested gently.

Crowley fell to his knees, unable to speak through a sob that was stuck somewhere in his throat. He shook his head, reaching for the wall, as if he could touch Aziraphale beyond it.

Raphael sat down on the ground next to him. He was there as the sob finally escaped, followed by more. He was there as they subsided, leaving the demon looking hopeless and dejected.

"The angel on the first bed, with the worst burns," he said quietly, not looking at Crowley, "that was Amael. We were friends, before the War. I watched as the spark of hellfire fell on him. I watched him burn and I couldn't do anything to stop it. So I stopped time. I wish I had thought of it sooner, but I didn't have the presence of mind in that moment. I've been working on finding a cure since then."

Crowley looked at him tiredly. "But you haven't," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the sobs. "6000 years, and you haven't found one."

Raphael stood up and offered his hand to Crowley. "I didn't have a demon to help me."

* * *

4 months later

Crowley's days in Heaven were rather monotonous, but he didn't complain. Not that one could call them days by the usual definition, since there was no period of darkness in Heaven. Raphael observed his sleep schedule, did some tests on his healing essence, and determined an optimal pattern of rest and activity for him, one that Crowley absolutely hated to follow. 

("Even God rested after six days of work, so if you want to work, you are going to observe a reasonable sleep schedule! I'm not going to lose time because your mind is not in an optimal condition to take in information!"

"But you don't sleep!"

"My essence isn't still healing from being torn to pieces! And I do rest, by meditating. For you, sleep is the most optimal form of rest."

"Hmpf.")

So follow it he did, because Raphael refused to smuggle coffee into the next gross matter shipment, and the pattern made Crowley feel alert and productive as never before. He still wished he could work harder and understand faster for Aziraphale, because while time might flow slowly for the angel, flow it still did.

Raphael explained to him how it worked. And Crowley had thought himself clever for being able to stop time… For convenience, they still referred to it that way when talking, but now he learnt that time never actually stopped because if it did it would stop being time - like a river stopped being a river when the water didn’t flow in it. What he thought was a miracle of stopping the whole universe around him (how pretentious…) was actually accelerating himself so much that everything else seemed frozen. The effect was the same anyway, because it was all relative. Yet if one would maintain the miracle long enough, one could actually see the world moving very, very slowly (and feel oneself getting very, very weak, because maintaining it for that long would be too exhausting). 

The room where Aziraphale lay didn’t need such active maintenance. Raphael created a shortcut in space, putting the room in close proximity to a black hole, utilising its effect on time. The walls were miracled to shield the room from the effects of its gravity, but the thought that Aziraphale is actually lightyears away was a bit unnerving to Crowley. His respect for Raphael grew when he realized that the Archangel had to build that room while still maintaining his hold on time after Amael was hurt by hellfire. 

When Crowley asked how much slower time flowed there, he got an evasive answer at first. But later Raphael told him: one second in a hundred years, approximately. A minute in 6000 years. A long minute of suffering for Amael while Raphael was looking for a cure. He didn’t want Aziraphale to suffer even for a second, and so he followed the schedule Raphael prescribed. 

He slept in the same room he awoke in for the first time here, but it looked less gloomy now. 

“What the hell were you trying to do with that cheap imitation?” he asked as soon as he was sure that Raphael won’t take offence. 

“I didn’t want you to feel shocked by foreign surroundings right after waking,” Raphael admitted. “I wanted to make you feel more at home.”

“Ehhhh, I see. It’s the thought that counts, I guess,” Crowley said and proceeded to change the decor. He didn’t make it into a variation of his Mayfair flat. Instead, he went for something more antique. Something that Aziraphale would like, when he is able to join him.

When he wasn’t sleeping, he mostly worked. It would be a gargantuan task, to catch up with 6000 years of Raphael’s research, but the Archangel omitted the centuries of study that led to dead ends and was able to explain the complicated matters in a simplified way that Crowley understood. He let him deepen his knowledge from there in the direction that was relevant to the hypothesis he wanted to pursue with Crowley. It involved different kinds of fire that one could find in Hell and their manipulation by demons.

Another portion of his time was dedicated to his own rehabilitation and Crowley really wished he could skip it but Raphael wouldn't hear of it. He made him exercise his powers and do stupid miracles like enlarging and shrinking a ball made up of different layers of materials over and over, keeping the layers in their original proportions.

Crowley only did it because Raphael got talkative when supervising his metaphysical therapy. Crowley already knew what happened after he blacked out, but when prompted, Raphael was able to describe in very exact terms just what Aziraphale had done to Gabriel. Crowley enjoyed hearing that. He also enjoyed the respect in Raphael’s voice when the Archangel spoke about how Aziraphale managed to get inside his time-stop miracle to protect Crowley. When he heard that story, he always felt the empty place at his side acutely, like the phantom pain of a missing limb. Raphael understood that. Sometimes he spoke about Amael or other angels in that room he knew personally. Crowley, in exchange, found himself sharing more about Aziraphale and their relationship over the years. 

Of course Raphael asked about the hellfire immunity. It felt strange to share such a well-guarded secret with someone, but Crowley told him, feeling bad that all he can share is a trick when Raphael expected something that would help with his research. Raphael pursued the lead anyway, asking about the details of the body swap, but he determined soon that it wouldn’t work for hellfire burns that reached all the way into angelic essence. He was also rather interested in Crowley's description of Aziraphale's trial, or rather the lack of it. 

Sometimes they spoke about other things while Crowley summoned and vanished single atoms, working his way up the periodic table. To Crowley's amusement it turned out that he, with second-hand information from someone who only visited the place occasionally to make a report, knew more about Heaven than an Archangel who'd been leaving any matters that weren't connected to healing or his research to others. Out of the two of them Crowley was also the bigger expert on Earth and humans. If he, however, asked Raphael about the theory of fitting an angelic essence into a corporation or the classification of possible wing ailments, he was sometimes able to stay up past his strict bedtime (and inevitably spent the next day yawning).

He and Raphael weren't alone in the Archangel's domain, of course. There were other angels: patients, healers and assistants. He was the only demon there but soon enough nobody paid much attention to that fact, with the exception of some overly suspicious angels, new patients and visitors. He mostly ignored those but some visitors took him by surprise. Like when Raphael sent him to retrieve some materials from his study, and when he entered…

HELLO, CROWLEY.

"Ngk." 

TELL RAPHAEL I'M HERE, WOULD YOU?

"Gnh."

That was the only time Raphael miracled him a glass of whiskey. 

"Why the hell didn't you tell me that Death just… comes for tea sometimes? I nearly discorporated! And I looked like a fool!"

"You didn't nearly discorporate. And you only looked like a slight fool."

"Gee, thanks," Crowley grumbled and emptied the glass.

* * *

With another visitor, Raphael actually warned him ahead. 

When Gabriel came, Crowley was just helping Raphael with an experiment. It involved a glass containment chamber where a column of fire turned around its axis with an ominous roar. Crowley waved at Gabriel from inside the chamber and then passed through the double airtight door to join Raphael just as the Archangel introduced him as his assistant. Gabriel had some thoughts about that.

“But he’s a demon, Raphael! You can’t let a demon run around Heaven freely!”

“No? I believe you invited one, too.”

“That was different! And that… is that hellfire?”

“Of course. He’s invaluable at manipulating it.”

Crowley grinned and let a flame lick the glass in Gabriel’s direction. 

Gabriel retreated a step. “That’s not safe!”

Raphael’s look was cold. “Much safer than the unprotected hellfire you used in an attempt to execute an angel.” 

“And you really trust him? I’m just speaking in concern, Raphael. You can’t know when he’ll turn that hellfire against you.”

“He has no reason to turn it against me, Gabriel.” Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Now against you…”

Crowley casually opened the outer door. 

“You… you can’t do that!”

“Can’t do what? Threaten another angel with hellfire? That thought would never occur to me. It was yours, I believe.”

“What do you want?” Gabriel snarled. 

“My place in the leadership. I’ve been leaving you to carry that burden for long enough. It’s time for me to take my share of responsibility.”

Gabriel frowned. 

Crowley opened the inner door. He forgot to close the outer one.

Gabriel retreated a few steps. “Fine,” he said and stormed away.

With a grin, Raphael vanished the glass chamber and let Crowley blow out the flames of the common fire they used in the fake experiment.

* * *

That’s how it happened that Raphael approached Crowley’s worktable just when he was trying to understand a model of spread of hellfire in an angelic essence based on different variables. "I need to leave for a meeting," he announced with a slight annoyance in his voice. 

"Will it be long?" Crowley asked. "I have some questions about the weakly nonlinear model."

"And I have some questions to you about the behavior of infernal fire, but as the recent events showed, my lack of interest in Heaven's political matters can have dire consequences, so…"

"Oh, you have a meeting with the pompous asses?"

"With the other Archangels, yes."

"Okay, I can manage. Good luck. And remember what I told you, embrace your inner bastard when dealing with them."

"Thank you, your insights have been quite helpful. I hope it won't take too long, but if it does, remember your schedule. I'll know if you break it."

Crowley rolled his eyes.

It did take too long and Crowley broke his schedule by staying up for half an hour longer, feeling a bit rebellious. Of course, he missed his best biorhythm phase for falling asleep and so he lay in his bed awake, thinking. The mention of infernal fire brought memories of the M25. He imagined the flames engulfing the Bentley, discorporating Hastur. Demonic immunity to hellfire didn't protect him. Infernal fire was different. M25… A ring of infernal fire. Nothing gets in or out. 

He blinked. 

Nothing gets in or out. 

He had it! He knew how to save his angel!

He jumped out of the bed and got to work.

When Raphael returned, he found Crowley asleep over a pile of papers covered in demonic sigils, all different variations of the dread sigil Odegra. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have time to draw, but I wanted a picture of Raphael so I made it in Azalea's Dolls & Doll Divine LotR & Hobbit scene maker :D
> 
> (The picture in the previous chapter was drawn later)


	4. Chapter 4

"So… this sigil can summon localized infernal fire that nothing should be able to get in or out from unless it possesses a great deal of imagination, do I understand that correctly?" Raphael asked the next day as he was going over Crowley's notes. 

"Yes. It should be a solution to the timebreak problem you encountered."

Raphael hmmmed and wrote down some calculations that Crowley had no hope of understanding. 

The timebreak problem was this: for several centuries, Raphael's research was focused on finding a substance that would counter hellfire that took root in an angelic essence. Holy water seemed like an obvious solution, since it was able to put out a freely burning hellfire, just like normal water with fire. Hellfire burning an angelic essence proved to behave differently, though. Once it took hold in it, nothing was able to put it out until it devoured the whole essence. Raphael tried to test and disprove the theory over and over in simulations but, to his dismay, it stayed firm. 

He kept occasionally testing it even now, but in other lines of research he accepted it as a premise. The most promising direction was a rather invasive method, but Raphael was a healer who could repair the damage caused by it. It involved cutting out all affected parts of the essence and body and letting the hellfire die out after devouring them. Here came the first problem: hellfire seemed to possess a certain kind of unconscious intelligence that made it spread faster or send sparks past the line of cutting once something like that was attempted. The solution seemed obvious: stopping the time.

Raphael was quite confident in this solution. All simulations told him it should work, yet he didn't want to risk any of his patients with an untested method. He was so confident in it that he wanted to try it on himself. Luckily his assistant Nuniel convinced him that if it, for some reason, didn't work, he would be of much more use here continuing his research than in the timestop room waiting for a cure and it would be much more efficient if she was the test subject. 

She was right. They used just a little spark of hellfire taken from one of the victims. It took hold of her essence as soon as it touched her skin. Immediately Raphael stopped time and attempted to cut it out.

That's when the timebreak problem appeared. Apparently hellfire, when threatened by being removed from an essence, could break into the timestop miracle - just like Aziraphale did when he tried to protect Crowley. And so Nuniel was now waiting in the timestop room and Raphael continued looking for a cure. 

"Maybe," the Archangel nodded. "But have you considered the problem of sigil topology?"

"Oh." Crowley hasn't considered the problem of sigil topology. His shoulders sank as his hopes shattered.

"Well, let's consider it," Raphael said kindly. He was too familiar with encountering a dead end in a promising theory but knew that this was not a dead end yet, just a big obstacle.

"Let's just summarize what we have," Raphael continued. "So your idea is using a variation of Odegra attuned to a creature other than the Antichrist. Then let the creature come into power, effectively trapping the hellfire within. And once the hellfire devours everything inside the sigil and dies, let the creature lose its power again and erase the sigil. You do realize it will probably be necessary to cut it out, since it burns itself into the tissue?"

"I admit I didn't," Crowley sighed, feeling now that he didn't consider many things in his rush to save Aziraphale. "But it shouldn't be a problem, right? That was your original idea for hellfire, too."

"No, not a problem. Just something to take into account. But what about this creature? It should be of Hellish origin for the sigil to work."

"I actually thought I could do it myself... with that manacle Hastur used to trap me. Do you still have it? I didn't have it on my hand when I woke here…"

"Yes, I took it off while healing you. Hm. I think with the proper design for the sigil, it could work. But here we are hitting the biggest obstacle."

"Sigil topology," Crowley sighed.

"Sigil topology," Raphael confirmed. "Can you see the problem with it?"

"Yeah… It works on a flat surface. And burns perpendicular to it, all the way up and down. It would… cut a hole all the way through."

Raphael nodded. "It's a hard obstacle. But maybe not impossible to overcome. Your ideas are very good, but we'll need to work hard to make them reality."

And work hard they did. Raphael used the non-existent back channels to get every bit of information on demonic sigils that was available. While he researched them on a theoretical level, Crowley did the practical part, because demonic sigils only work when written by a demon. 

Once Raphael proclaimed his essence healed, he didn’t dictate Crowley’s schedule anymore. He said he had no right to do so and it was Crowley’s responsibility now. Crowley took that seriously most of the time. In the remaining time, he managed to get Raphael to try coffee with him. The Archangel was hopeless though - he favoured cinnamon vanilla iced latte.

Once they found the suitable design hailing the Great Serpent, the hardest part was yet ahead of them. They needed to transform it for the three-dimensional surface of the body and multi-dimensional surface of the angelic essence, and at the same time make the wall of fire into an enclosed space.

The design had to be individual for every hellfire victim, taking into consideration the shape of their burns. They used processors made of star systems for the calculations. They ran into obstacles and had to start anew more than once. Sometimes it got frustrating. Sometimes it seemed like they’d never figure it out or that it was impossible and they were losing time pursuing it.

Then finally they had a design for Nuniel, whose burn was smallest and who already agreed to being a test subject. They ran simulations again and again and the results looked promising. There was nothing left to do but try it on her. 

* * *

"It worked! It worked, angel!" Crowley was leaning on the transparent wall and lightyears of distance separating him from Aziraphale. 

"Soon I'll be able to hold you! You'll think you just got there and already we have a cure… Soon. We just need to run the calculations. Raphael got permission to use more star systems, so we can do more of them simultaneously. Well, more like blackmailed his way to permission. My influence is showing, you know. You will like him, angel. He's a bit of a stickler, but he's all right. He'll insist you keep your schedule and do your exercises, of course. No way around that while you're his patient. But he means well. You’ll see…

I'll tell you truthfully, it will hurt. So sorry about that. There's no way to dull the pain of hellfire in your essence. If there was one, Raphael would have figured it out long ago. That's what he does best, figuring out things. He will heal you, once the hellfire is out. You can trust him, he's the best healer you can have. And I'll be there. I'll hold you. It will be all right. You will be all right.

Just a little while longer, angel…"

* * *

It took three years.

They were in the room that Crowley had thought was a torture chamber when he saw it for the first time. Now he was perfectly familiar with every piece of equipment here. 

Everything was ready. 

Crowley turned the multidimensional model of a sigil in his hands again. It looked more like a fine mesh than a conventional demonic sigil. He knew every little detail by heart. Precision was crucial, the margin of error at the level of a Planck's length. 

Raphael put a hand on the demon's shoulder. "Ready?" he asked.

Crowley took a deep breath. "Absolutely."

Raphael nodded and took a moment to focus himself. Then he snapped his fingers and time stopped. 

He snapped his fingers again and Aziraphale appeared on the operating table.

He was there. Crowley could touch him. His body was warm and soft and alive even in the stopped time. Too warm. Crowley focused on his task. It was the most important thing in the world. Aziraphale's life depended on it. 

He made himself small, as small as a single cell of Aziraphale's corporation. The angel's smooth skin became a rough terrain of little rims and valleys, the fine hair growing from it now the size of trees. The hellfire burn was a devastating bushfire, spreading across a dry plain. 

It took weeks to draw the sigil properly. It burnt Crowley's fingers, but he never stopped. Raphael kept time stopped for all that time, sitting motionless to preserve his energy. If Crowley had any mental capacity left to think about it, he would think how impressive it was. His personal record for keeping time still was about ten minutes. 

Finally the sigil was complete and he returned to his normal size. Raphael was so deep in focus that he didn't notice. 

"Doc?" he approached the Archangel. "It's done."

Raphael opened his eyes and looked at Crowley. He blinked. Then he snapped his fingers twice.

With the first snap, Aziraphale disappeared. With the second one, time restarted and Raphael collapsed.

"What…? No!" Crowley jumped to where Aziraphale had been as if he could bring him back. Then he looked at Raphael and froze. He stumbled towards him.

"Calm down…" the Archangel said hoarsely, opening his eyes. "I sent him back until I gather my strength. I wouldn't be able to heal him now."

"Oh…" Crowley sank next to Raphael, pushing down his disappointment. He only registered now how bone-weary he felt himself. "We are fools, aren't we?" 

"Yep," Raphael said wryly, the demon's language rubbing off on him in the time they had spent together. "The design is much more complicated than Nuniel's. We should have done it in phases. We overestimated ourselves."

"Nah, we were just too eager to make it work. I never got the idea that we didn't need to do it at once."

"Me neither," Raphael admitted. "But we should be perfectly fit before we continue. So, to bed with you."

"Me?" Crowley snorted. "Look at yourself. To bed with you, too."

"I believe you are correct."

* * *

It wouldn't be Raphael if he didn’t optimize their schedule. He found the combination of a 34 hours long timestop and 51 hours of rest ideal. It took five such cycles to check all of Crowley's work for possible inaccuracies. Everything had to be absolutely perfect. They needed to be 100% sure that everything was perfect. A mistake at this stage would be devastating. 

Everything was perfect. Everything was ready. They went over the next steps countless times, could do them even in their sleep: 

One last timestop to bring Aziraphale here. Crowley will wear the shackle to suppress his power. Then Raphael restarts time and immediately frees Crowley. The sigil should… no, the sigil _will_ react to it and enclose the hellfire with a wall of infernal fire. Raphael will monitor it while Crowley will hold Aziraphale. As soon as the hellfire devours all essence within the enclosed space and dies, Raphael puts the shackle back to deactivate the sigil and then cuts it out of the essence. Then he heals it. Easy.

"Ready?"

Crowley adjusted the shackle on his hand for easiest access. "Yes."

* * *

Aziraphale didn't even have time to blink and the white room disappeared again, a literal "blink and you'll miss it" experience.

His wounds disappeared as well. All the hurts of his corporation and essence gone with the exception of one. It was worse somehow. No distraction from the sharp burn stealing all his attention. 

Hellfire. He's been hit by hellfire.

And Crowley…

"Where's…"

The pain flared without any warning. 

He screamed.

He burnt. 

He screamed.

He burnt.

He burnt. 

He couldn't scream anymore.

He burnt.

He burnt.

He burnt.

An eternity later, the burn faded, leaving behind an intense but dull pain, leaving him trembling and whimpering and dreading it would return.

A thought returned instead, finding its way to the surface of his shaken mind with piercing urgency.

"Crowley…"

"I'm here, angel. I'm here…"

The recognition of the voice came with such an intense relief that he got dizzy with it.

Or maybe the dizziness was unrelated. The voice faded. He wanted to listen to it longer, but he couldn't resist the pull that dragged his consciousness away. There was no pain there. 

* * *

Raphael pressed a glass of whiskey into Crowley's hand and sat down on the ground next to the armchair the demon was sitting on, not bothering to summon one for himself.

The armchair stood next to a bed in a cozy room full of antique furniture, books and plants. On the bed an angel lay, pale and motionless but alive.

"Do you want to talk?" Raphael asked.

"Nah."

Raphael was quiet for a while. "I would like to talk," he said then. "Do you mind listening?"

Crowley shook his head.

"You know what I'm grateful for?"

Crowley took a gulp of whiskey. 

"I'm really glad," Raphael continued, "that Azrael didn't show up for tea today."

Crowley choked on his drink. "Damn and bless it, Doc! You can't just give me a mental picture like that out of nowhere!"

Raphael smiled smugly, but the smile faded soon. He leaned his head on the armrest of the chair. "You would think it gets easier with time and practice," he sighed.

"Doesn't it?"

"No." 

Crowley closed his eyes, as if he could push out the screams from his mind. "I made the sigil," he said hoarsely. "I burnt him."

"You saved him," Raphael said gently. "Sometimes you can't do that without hurting them."

"You said it never gets easier."

"No. 

"But you keep doing it."

"Someone has to."

Crowley looked at Raphael with new respect. 

The Archangel smiled sadly and summoned a glass of whiskey for himself. He sniffed it curiously. "Does it really help?"

"Weeell… what doesn't kill you… And you can sober up anytime."

Raphael took a sip and made a disgusted face. "I liked the latte better."

Crowley smirked. "Give it a chance."


	5. Chapter 5

Two weeks later

Awareness came slowly, like emerging from a cloud of soft but sticky cotton candy. The first thing Aziraphale felt was an overwhelming absence of pain. It was a curious new sensation - he had already forgotten how it felt despite consciously knowing it'd only been hours since he last felt it. Back then, he didn’t even realize how special it was, how wonderful to be able to think and feel something else. 

Cautiously, he reached out with his ethereal senses even before his corporation joined him in awareness, ready to withdraw in case he should encounter more pain. But there was no pain. There was a familiar presence instead, reassuring and welcome. 

There was softness under him and softness covering him and a soft voice was speaking to him. 

"Aziraphale? Wake up, please. It's all right. You’re safe…"

He smiled. He tried to form a word in his mouth, then breathed sound into it. "Crowley?" 

There was a warm hand touching his, cradling his palm as if it were a frail bird in a nest.

"I'm here, angel."

He opened his eyes. It was no lie. Crowley was here. Crowley was alive. Crowley was safe.

He basked in that knowledge for a moment before the obligatory questions surfaced in his mind. What happened? Where were they? What time was it?

"Are you all right?" he asked instead.

Crowley snorted in disbelief, but his look got all soft and loving. He wasn't wearing sunglasses, so Aziraphale got a full blast.

"I'm fine, angel. And I'm not saying it in that " _ 'tis just a scratch _ " way to reassure you. I really mean it. I'm perfectly healthy, not even a scratch. Remember that ache in my back I used to complain about after I slept in a weird position? Even that's gone." Crowley got up to demonstrate it, bending forward and backward. "See? I'm absolutely fine, nothing to worry about. And now," he looked at Aziraphale, "comes the million pound question. How are  _ you _ feeling?"

"I feel nice," Aziraphale replied as accurately as he was able to. "Nothing hurts."

"Can you be more specific? Do you feel any tension in your essence? Numbness anywhere?"

The angel shook his head, watching Crowley intently. 

Now, Aziraphale was intelligent. He could see the furnishing of the room. He could smell the faint but distinct scent of Heaven that was rather a lack of many scents one would smell on Earth without realizing it properly. He was able to figure out the answers to the obligatory questions. He was remembering what happened. He could deduce that they were in Heaven. But the question about time…

"Crowley," he asked urgently, "how long have you been here?"

The demon stiffened. "Not long."

"Your hair is long again."

"Oh," Crowley turned his head as if he could look at the back of his head. "Uhmm… yeah. Didn't have time to cut it."

"How long has it been?"

Crowley sighed. "Five years."

Aziraphale's look was concerned, hitting Crowley straight in the heart. "My dear…"

Crowley looked away. "I missed you."

Aziraphale opened his arms, trembling with weakness. 

Crowley buried himself in them, embracing his angel firmly.

There was no strain in Aziraphale's hands when he could rest them on Crowley's back. They belonged there. Crowley belonged there. The thought of losing him was still dreadfully real in his mind. To him it was just yesterday that he saw Crowley dying. He needed to hold him close, to reassure himself that Crowley is all right with all of his senses.

He could feel Crowley shivering in his arms, embracing him back desperately. For Aziraphale, it was yesterday. For Crowley, it had been five years. Five years without his angel, five years of loneliness and worry. Just as Aziraphale needed to assure himself, he needed to reassure Crowley. 

"I'm here… I'm not sure how, but I'm here…"

Crowley's quickened breath evened slowly. "Raphael found a way to save you from hellfire. I won't bother you with details."

"He promised he'd take care of you."

"Yeah… just wait until you find out what that entails. He's going to take care of you too. And by the way, the answers you gave me about how you’re feeling? Totally won't be satisfactory to him, you'll have to elaborate."

"Huh."

"Don't worry, he's all right. He's…" Crowley suddenly smiled to himself as he thought of the right expression. "He's on our side..."

Aziraphale found that hard to believe. The thought of someone being on their side, the thought of someone else they could trust and rely on was almost absurd. But Crowley has had a head start of five years.

"Yeah…" the demon murmured. "Would be nice if he got his ass out of his lab sooner, but better late than never, I guess. And I really should call him now. I just needed to give you a bit of an introduction because he sucks as first impressions."

"Just a moment, please," Aziraphale whispered and breathed in Crowley's scent deeply, clinging to him tightly, not wanting the embrace to end. Finally, he nodded.

Crowley extricated his long limbs from the hug with regret. 

"Hey, Doc!" he yelled towards the door. "The patient's awake!"

***

As Crowley expected, Aziraphale proved to be a difficult patient. He didn't like being in Heaven, even though Crowley assured him that Gabriel would never appear unannounced in this particular part of it. (Death might but he's just coming for tea, no worries, angel.)

Aziraphale didn't have any particularly strong motivation to be at his optimal level of mental alertness. He wanted to read instead of doing metaphysical exercises. Or have a bite of that delightful salted caramel parfait we had after seeing ‘Antony & Cleopatra’ at the Globe last spring… er… five years ago, you know which one, thank you very much Crowley.

One thing he didn't complain about was staying alone when Crowley and Raphael were busy with sigil topology. He even did his exercises then, if he didn't forget. The reason for that was, of course, that Crowley's "Raphael saved you, I won't bother you with details," didn't hold, especially with Raphael getting talkative while supervising his metaphysical therapy. 

("Don't let him downplay his role, it would be impossible to save you without him. He worked really hard for it. Just so you know, you are dating the world's leading expert in the study and application of demonic sigils."

"How do you know we are dating?"

"Aziraphale… seriously?")

When the next sigil design was complete and it was time to put it to work, Aziraphale was there. He didn't understand much of it and wasn't of any practical help, but he was there to support Crowley.

It wasn't pretty. 

They all shared a bottle of whiskey afterwards, when the angel was stable and monitored by Raphael's assistants. 

"That's how it was with me, too?" Aziraphale asked shakily.

Both Crowley and Raphael nodded.

"Oh dear… that must have been so awful, seeing me like that."

Crowley nodded.

"You are so brave, my dear," Aziraphale embraced him.

Raphael looked down into his glass, blushing lightly.

* * *

Despite his general unwillingness to obey medical advice, Aziraphale was getting better. Several months later, Raphael allowed him to return to Earth, to his books and restaurants. Crowley returned with him, since the calculations needed for designing the sigils were now running almost fully automatically. Raphael only called him when he needed to discuss something or when a sigil design was complete. For those occasions, Aziraphale always accompanied him.

With more angels cured from hellfire burns, Raphael organized regular meetings where they could talk to each other about their experiences. Aziraphale refused to attend them at first, expecting the general mood of them being rather anti-demonic, considering that there were usually demons involved in hellfire injuries. Raphael didn't press him. Instead, he called Crowley to one of those meetings because the angels wanted to get to know the demon who had a big share in saving them. Aziraphale went with him, naturally.

It turned out that the angels there understood very well that not all demons were the same despite the tendency of a majority of them being violent jerks. In just the same way that he now knew that not all Archangels were the same, despite the tendency of the majority of them to be assholes.

He attended the next meeting without Crowley, while the demon was discussing things that nobody else understood with Raphael. There was something reassuring in talking to someone who understood. No matter how supportive others were, some experiences were impossible to translate - like the feeling of burning alive in the hottest flame imaginable.

Having an Archangel on their side proved to be useful in more ways than free healthcare. With Aziraphale and Crowley's combined tutoring, Raphael became an expert in manipulating the other Archangels. It didn't even take much effort to get them an official guarantee of safety from both Heaven and Hell. 

They were truly safe and free to be together. A near death experience tends to put things into perspective, so it didn't take them long to get a summer cottage somewhere in the South Downs and move in together.

* * *

Years later, there came a time when almost all angels were cured from their burns. Only one remained.

The wall was transparent now, showing a room that was actually lightyears away. 

Raphael was standing in front of it. 

When a bony hand clenched his shoulder, he didn't flinch.

"I expected you."

I KNOW.

"How long?"

0.17 SECONDS.

Raphael nodded. He watched the burnt angel behind the glass for a while longer. There was very little space left on his body to draw a sigil on. And even if they could manage it, there would be too little left to heal. He knew for the whole time. He just refused to accept it until now.

"You get some time with them before you take them, right? Can you give him a message from me?"

YES.

"Thank you. Please tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I tried." 

I WILL.

Raphael closed his eyes. He wiped the tears that welled in their corners. Then he opened them again and snapped his fingers. 

Amael was lying on the table, the hellfire just a split second away from devouring him completely. 

But time was stopped. Raphael stopped it before coming here. He didn't want to be seen. 

He put on thick blessed gloves, protecting himself from the hellfire. He wanted to touch Amael one last time. He caressed his cheek. "I'm sorry. I should have stopped time sooner. I should have…"

IT IS TIME.

Raphael could have protested. He could have said it's stopped and he can take as much time as he wants. But he just nodded mutely and snapped his fingers.

The angel in front of him turned to ash. 

Death just stood there.

Raphael knew that he and Amael had already had their conversation. There was only one being in the whole of creation who could step out of time fully, so that it wasn't slowed but stopped completely. So that it stopped being time and became… death. They talked in the one single point when time stopped flowing for Amael. But Death was considerate. He was giving Raphael a moment to process the change. 

Raphael put his hand on the empty table. "Did you give him my message?" he asked quietly.

I DID.

"What did he say?"

HE SAID THAT HE WAS PROUD OF YOU. 

"What? Why?"

I TOLD HIM HOW YOU WERE TRYING TO FIND A CURE FOR HIM, WORKING ON IT HARD FOR MILLENIA. I TOLD HIM HOW YOU BECAME A HEALER BECAUSE OF IT, SAVING THOUSANDS OF LIVES. I TOLD HIM HOW YOU SAVED OTHERS EVEN IF YOU COULDN'T SAVE HIM. I TOLD HIM THAT IT WAS ALL BECAUSE OF HIM.

Raphael sighed shakily, leaning on the table for support.

Two negative wings fanned out and enveloped him in nothingness. It was a strangely comforting feeling.

REMEMBER THE DEMON AND HIS ANGEL WHOSE LIVES YOU SAVED. REMEMBER HOW HAPPY THEY ARE TOGETHER. WITHOUT AMAEL, THEY WOULDN'T BE ALIVE NOW.

Raphael smiled through the tears.


End file.
